The Sister(36)
He wondered as he closed the door, shutting out the driving rain: Does it rain on Armageddon?
Chapter 26
The following night, in his dreams, Kirk instructed him in unarmed combat, Korean style. ‘Taekkyon,’ he explained. ‘Is actually a forerunner of Tae kwon do, I learned it during my national service in Malaysia.’ Moving like a shadow, he said, ‘Copy me.’ And Miller did.
Unable to wake fully, he surfaced briefly, blinked his eyes and then drifted back into the depths, into Kirk’s jungle. Behind him, the relentless sounds of pursuit as faceless enemies crashed through the undergrowth, preceded by their urgent voices, bugle calls and the barking of dogs. They were on his trail. There was no going in any other direction than forwards. He ran.
The pale light of dawn breaking through the trees marked the edge of the forest.
Tired of running, weak-kneed, every breathed ragged and hot, driven by an indomitable spirit, he pushed on across the exposed open ground. Low vegetation snagged at his heels, almost tripping him as he made his way up the slope, where the line of darkness at the top met the brightening sky. The light at the edge of the world.
Moments later, a mass of shadowy figures swarmed out of the tree line, their shouts took on a new urgency. They had seen him. The dogs, unleashed, raced forwards, closing the gap on him. Shots rang out. A bullet snatched at his shorts as it tore through. Another ricocheted off the rocks next to him; he stumbled over the crest and teetered on the edge of a sheer rock cliff, hundreds of feet above the water, the sea. If he didn’t jump, he knew he’d die and if he did, it was unlikely he’d survive the fall. And if that didn’t kill him, he’d drown in the sea. Already leaping as these things crossed his mind, he dropped through the air that tugged at his clothes, making him cold. The dark waters below approaching faster still, he saw the white foam tips of the waves crashing, heard their hollow roar. Praying he wouldn’t hit the rocks; he braced himself for impact.
His bed seemed to bounce in the instant before he awoke.
He didn’t stir for a few moments, replaying what he remembered of the dream. The beginning was lost in a haze, but he had an overwhelming feeling he’d gained another chance, a new path to follow. Throwing back the bedclothes, he got out of bed.
In the library half an hour later, he sat down with a book and read about the Korean War, the role of the Gloucesters and how rumours had spread among the men during captivity that the Chinese had singled out their Colonel for special treatment: brainwashing.
Returning the book to the shelves, he sought out books on brainwashing and mind control. Finding them, he flicked through the pages at speed. Thought to be among techniques used by religious cults... He stopped dead and leafed back through perhaps twenty pages before he found the words again and then studied the relevant text with a deep frown of concentration on his brow. Cults?
When he’d finished in the library, he made his way to a cafe; he’d not yet eaten that morning. Taking a newspaper from the courtesy read rack, he experienced a strange lingering sense, a calling almost, a definite sense of something, like rain in the air before a storm. He couldn’t quite finger it, but he knew it was coming. A half-enlightened moment followed, and as he unfolded the paper he realised he’d known what he would see all along.
Heiress Disappears in Mysterious Circumstances.
The article was a lengthy one and he read it twice. Unable to explain the feeling, he knew somehow that she was still alive.
On his way home, he purchased every single daily newspaper he could find and spread them out all over his lounge floor. His thoughts nagged at him. He was no longer reading about the heiress; he was looking for something else, but what?
Rolling over on the carpet and propping himself up with his elbows on top of the Times, his fingers absently turned the pages and then, frowning, he stopped. Two-thirds of the way down the page was a short piece on the emergence of a particular cult operating in every major city in Europe, but particularly the popular tourist spots.
The following day, he had a hunch and he travelled to Piccadilly Circus, hoping to witness the cult recruiting first hand. In the shadow of the winged statue of Eros, he found them.
The rain before the storm still threatened, the feeling it was coming persisted. Thinking about the two roads Kirk had spoken of, he knew this was the right one.
The heiress’s name was Olga Kale and he began to investigate the case in an unofficial capacity. Earlier reports suggested Olga had left London to visit Amsterdam, passing through Belgium, France, Spain and Italy. She had then inexplicably returned to Holland’s capital. He was thinking. She’d have gone east. Why would she go back to Amsterdam?
That night he decamped into his bedroom and followed the half-remembered advice his grandfather had given him about solving problems overnight, whilst asleep. Take the problem to bed with you, think about it, write it down, take books, photographs everything to help you focus, and then sleep.
He slept in his bed using the newspapers as sheets. Every time he moved, they rustled dryly. Imagining pages turning over, images sharpened in his mind.
When he woke up in the morning, he’d worked it out. She’d been in Rome, where a convention attended by two thousand people had taken place. She had to have met someone who'd convinced her to go back with them to Holland, where the cult’s headquarters were. It couldn’t be a coincidence.